Oddments: The Musical
by TrivialQueen
Summary: I did some housecleaning today and found a stash of Song!fics I'd written earlier, all taking place in the Oddments Universe. And so here they are for your reading pleasure. Songs, prompts, fun, M rated material! Featuring Philip/ Mary, William Parr, Anne & Edward Seymour, Francis Bryan/ Katherine Parr, and Anne Boleyn. As well as an amazing taste in music...
1. Fck You

Oddments: The Musical

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Author's Note: _Oddments: Reprise_ is more or less on hiatus because life, as are the majority of my stories actually. Being a senior in college is not actually as fun and wonderful as one would be led to believe – Class work, Rowing, Senior Thesis, Graduate school applications, only twenty four hours in a day and not counting time to sleep, eat, or see other people. I think you can understand my joy. But anyway, I've had these pieces sitting on my hard drive for ages now, some of them are probably a year old or more. I figured I'd do some housecleaning and post them. They were intended to be a part of a larger series. _Oddments: The Musical_ was conceived via a playlist I made that consisted of all the songs that reminded me of the Tudors in some way. There are at least two CDs worth of material on my iTunes, and maybe one day there will be two CDs worth of material in this fic. But right now there isn't.

The pieces in this fic are all directly based on songs and feature the couples and situations that I have introduced in the other two parts of the Oddments series, please refer to those collections for background. As always, read and review, I am very interested in your opinion. And if you know any good songs, my music taste is very eclectic and I enjoy making it more so.

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Disclaimer: I am not a Theologian, a Historian, or a TV Producer; I therefore do not own any thing.  
Pairing: Thomas Wyatt/Anne Boleyn, Anne Boleyn/ Henry Tudor

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Fuck You, Cee-Lo Green

Laughter and the dull roar of hoof beats. Thomas Wyatt looked up from his latest composition in time to watch as His Royal Highness, King Henry VIII streaked by on a chestnut charger. He was followed closely by a black beauty, the raven haired rider laughing wildly. He would know that laugh anywhere. It was the laugh that would make his heartbeat, the sun come out after a rain storm. It was Anne. The King stopped his horse and caught Anne about the waist, stopping her with a deep kiss.

_(Chorus)  
I see you driving 'round town  
With the girl i love and I'm like,  
Fuck you!  
Oo, oo, ooo  
I guess the change in my pocket  
Wasn't enough I'm like,  
Fuck you!  
And fuck her too!_

He was a simple poet, married as well. He had nothing to offer her. Nothing but pure love and affection. The King was the king, his word was law. He had riches beyond what he could imagine. He could provide what Thomas could not. Oh, if only he could provide her with such security. If he could buy dresses that caressed and covered her body, the body he once caressed and covered. He wished to cover her in glittering jewels; necklaces, earrings, and broaches that glittered like her eyes.

_I said, if i was richer, I'd still be with ya  
Ha, now ain't that some shit? (ain't that some shit?)  
And although there's pain in my chest  
I still wish you the best with a...  
Fuck you!  
Oo, oo, ooo_

Why wasn't his love enough for her? One upon a time it had been. Once, when he was young and he was freshly favored at court he was her only. But her purse only extended so far, his name only brought grandeur in some circles, not all. His name did mean something; he was a favorite poet at court. But his name did not mean enough. No matter what he did it was not enough. He published works; he bought her flowers and other lover's tokens. He was her only until someone new came along.

_Yeah I'm sorry, i can't afford a Ferrari,  
But that don't mean i can't get you there.  
I guess he's an Xbox and I'm more Atari,  
But the way you play your game ain't fair._

When she told him she loved him was she lying or was she lying when she whispered the same words to his majesty? She whispered them and he bought her a necklace and she said them, he bought her a house and she proclaimed her undying affection about the court.

Did his majesty notice this pattern? Did he ever stop and think and wonder? No. No, no one second guessed the beauty of Anne's eyes.

_I picture the fool that falls in love with you  
(oh shit she's a gold digger)  
Well  
(just thought you should know nigga)  
Ooooooh  
I've got some news for you  
Yeah go run and tell your little boyfriend_

_(chorus)_

His living expenses were much more manageable now that he did not have to pay court to anyone. He was not spending his every spare cent on an impressive suit or beautiful broach. He had a savings account of sorts now and more hours in the day to devote to gentlemanly activity – reading and riding, hawking and hunting. He missed some of the activities he and Anne partook of but on the whole his life was much simpler without such an influence.

_Now I know, that I had to borrow,  
Beg and steal and lie and cheat.  
Trying to keep ya, trying to please ya.  
'Cause being in love with your ass ain't cheap._

_I picture the fool that falls in love with you_  
_(oh shit she's a gold digger)_  
_Well_  
_(just thought you should know nigga)_  
_Ooooooh_  
_I've got some news for you_  
_i really hate yo ass right now_  
_(chorus)_

Watching the King and Anne play together, laughing, touching, kissing, riding. Zounds, though his head knew he was better off without her his heart …. Oh his heart hurt. His everything hurt. He slammed his notebook shut and leaned back against the tree and pinched the bridge of his nose, blowing air out between his teeth. A pause, a deep breath. Thomas opened his eyes and opened his notebook to a fresh page. This was the kind of catharsis only words could express. Except the only thing he could write was …

I still love you.

_Now baby, baby, baby, why d'you wanna wanna hurt me so bad?_

_(so bad, so bad, so bad)_  
_I tried to tell my mamma but she told me_  
_"this is one for your dad"_  
_(your dad, your dad, your dad)_  
_Uh! Whhhy? Uh! Whhhy? Uh!_  
_Whhhy lady? Oh! I love you oh!_  
_I still love you. Oooh!_

_(chorus)_


	2. A Love Song from a Different PoV

Oddments: The Musical

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Disclaimer: I am not a Theologian, a Historian, or a TV Producer; I therefore do not own any thing.  
Pairing: Edward Seymour/ Anne Stanhope Seymour

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A Love Song from a Different Point of View, Jimmy Buffett

Edward was drunk. It was a state he'd not been in in a very long time, not since his university days when his mates thought it'd be oh so funny to get 'stiff-neck Seymour' shitfaced. The next morning he'd woken up with a goat (in a hat) chewing on his pillow and his pants conspicuously missing. Needless to say that only happened once.

Twice. For he was drunk now. His large hand visibly unsteady as he raised the decanter of wine to refill his… one of three cups. He knew he really had one, but he wasn't entirely sure which one. He aimed for the one in the middle, and got most of the vino into the glass. From across the table he could Anne laugh. At least he was fairly certain it was Anne that was whom he started out the night with. It was her voice speaking to him; however the features of her face were not as clear as they once were. She was drunk as well, perhaps not as far gone as he was but certainly giggly. And …. Nicer… than people at court would ever imagine her being.

"Did you know, Annie, people call you 'That Hell' about court?" He asked her, words only slightly slurred. "But I don't think that's true."

"Did you know, Eddie," Anne replied, she hated the nickname Annie as much as he despised 'Eddie', "Did you know that people call you the Snowman? They think you're colder than Cromwell. And sometimes I wonder."

"Well, Miss Hell, do you think you could melt the snowman?" He was drunk, she was drunk. He needed to feel human again, for he would never admit it but he did feel more frosty these days. He needed someone to melt the ice. He needed her.

That was all the encouragement Anne needed. She, in truth, wasn't nearly as drunk as he thought she was, she'd only started the night drinking – only enough to see that he got himself completely sloshed. Goddamn the man for needed a buzz to be human – to look at her like he wanted her. She shouldn't have to get him drunk so that he'd make love to her. But that was Edward Seymour – handsome, stubborn Edward Seymour. She rounded the table and looked down at him.

"I don't know, Frosty, do you think you can take the heat?" she asked, quirking a brow. She leaned down, very low, so that he could see all the way down her dress before meeting her eyes. "I don't think you have enough fire."

The shriek she gave when Edward hauled her up on to the table and kissed her senseless was one of pure joy – not shock. She had found his trigger. His mouth was hot and demanding, tongue forceful in its conquest of her mouth, hands tugging at the laces of her corset. Despite the fabric of her skirt she could feel his manhood pressing against her thighs. So the snowman had some spark in him after all.

She smirked into the kiss and ran her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer, wrapping her legs around his waist, one hand trailing down between their bodies to undo the ties of his breeches. She would be satisfied.

He groaned as his shaft was freed and wasted no time in sheathing himself in her all the way to his hilt. This was one target he could hit, even in his inebriated state. She moaned and pulled him closer.

His kiss was warm… and sweet, if a bit sloppy. His fingers brushed her hair from her forehead and he placed another kiss there. He was tender in his altered state. More open. She loved it. She loved him; even if it hurt her knowing that the moment he was sober this side of him would disappear.

"I love you, Annie." He whispered, thrusting deeper, taking her to a new plane of sensation. She grabbed his face and looked him in the eye. The truth was blurred by the drink, but his words were true.

"You're drunk." She said hollowly. Her body was responding to his movements and she would reach her peak very soon. But it would be a hollow orgasm.

"Doesn't change how I feel." He slurred. She wanted to ask him why he couldn't say it sober. But the waves of pleasure could not be held off and the couple climaxed. Edward tipped back into the chair, bringing Anne along with him. They both sat – collapsed for a time, neither coherent or coordinated enough to move.

After a moment Anne sat up, withdrawing him from her womb. He was nodding off in the chair – between the drink and the sex she knew he would be passed out fully in no time. She smoothed his wild hair back and kissed his forehead, resting hers there for a time.

"Oh Edward," She whispered sadly. "Why can't you tell me when you're sober? Why do you have to fight me?" She felt a tear slide down her cheek. "I do love you – if only you'd let me."

Snores were her only response. Wiping her face on his sleeve she straightened his pants, giving him some dignity should a maid find him before he woke from his stupor. Sadly she took a glass of wine with her to their bedroom. She felt herself shiver.

_They say you are cold… and sometimes I wonder._

_I really do appreciate the fact you're sittin' here_  
_Your voice sounds so wonderful_  
_But yer face don't look too clear_  
_So bar maid bring a pitcher, another round o' brew_  
_Honey, why don't we get drunk and screw_

_Why don't we get drunk and screw_  
_I just bought a water bed, it's filled up for me and you_  
_They say you are a snuff queen_  
_Honey I don't think that's true_  
_So, why don't we get drunk and screw_

_Why don't we get drunk and screw_  
_I just bought a water bed it's filled up for me and you_  
_They say you are a snuff queen_  
_Honey I don't think that's true_  
_So why don't we get drunk and screw_  
_Yeah, now baby I say, (Lord!)_  
_Why don't we get drunk and screw_


	3. Can You Feel the Love Tonight?

Oddments: The Musical

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Disclaimer: I am not a Theologian, a Historian, or a TV Producer; I therefore do not own any thing.  
Pairing: Francis Bryan/ Katherine Parr  
_Note: AU since Kate is at court in Season Three instead of Four, and also because I can't remember what time of year Bryan was sent to France with Tommy-Boy to play assassins._

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Can You Feel the Love Tonight, Elton John

_There's a calm surrender to the rush of day  
When the heat of the rolling world can be turned away  
An enchanted moment, and it sees me through  
It's enough for this restless warrior just to be with you_

A softy hiss of pain made Katherine Parr stir in her sleep. She turned, eyes slowly focusing, her legs tangling in the sheets as she rotated to identify the soft sound of swearing. Silhouetted against the moonlit window was the long, lean figure Kate knew well.

"Francis?" She whispered, propping herself up on one elbow. "I thought you'd left for France already." The dark figure stopped, pants halfway down his strong thighs, he looked up, good eye meeting her ultramarine gaze.

"I didn't mean to wake you up, go back to sleep, Katie." He replied softly, dropping his trousers and continuing to disrobe, littering her room with clothes as he crossed to her.

_And can you feel the love tonight  
It is where we are  
It's enough for this wide-eyed wanderer  
That we got this far  
And can you feel the love tonight  
How it's laid to rest  
It's enough to make kings and vagabonds  
Believe the very best_

"You need to lock the door when you go to bed Katie – Love, don't know who'll just walk in." He teased softly slipping into bed behind her and drawing her back to his chest despite the sticky summer heat.

"You jimmied the lock, you Pirate, don't lie to me." Kate replied as she snuggled into his arms. He chuckled, it rumbled through his chest and against her back, she smiled a content, lazy, sleepy smile.

"Hush," He replied softly, "Go to sleep." Warm lips pressed a tender kiss to her temple.

_There's a time for everyone if they only learn  
That the twisting kaleidoscope moves us all in turn  
There's a rhyme and reason to the wild outdoors  
When the heart of this star-crossed voyager beats in time with yours _

Francis wrapped his arm around Kate's waist and slung one leg over hers protectively, his bearded chin nuzzled roughly against her smooth shoulder and neck. In the morning he would be off to France, sent to kill Reginald Pole, but tonight he would sleep with a woman in his arms. And they would actually rest, the rhythm of her breath and the soft beat of her heart lulling him into a peaceful sleep.


	4. Some People

Oddments: The Musical

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Disclaimer: I am not a Theologian, a Historian, or a TV Producer; I therefore do not own any thing. The snark is courtesy of the Bard, without whom this fic (and many of my other stories) would be nothing. The characterization of Parr is all Pandora's doing.  
Pairing: William Parr/ Alexandria Knightly

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Some People, The Nylons

Alexandria looked between two gowns for what was probably the twelfth time. She couldn't decide. She held one up against herself and looked into the mirror. It was a mauve brocade with the lowest neckline Edward would allow her to wear. It complimented her fair skin and hazel eyes nicely.

She held up the other dress, a beautiful blue-green velvet number. The color matched his eyes perfectly. Alexandria shook her head forcefully, she was not thinking of him. It did not matter if he liked her in one dress or another – she wore clothes because she couldn't wonder the palace naked, not because of him! Yet in the end she decided upon her most flattering dress.

"I think better when I look my best." She told her reflection. Her reflection didn't buy it.

_I wake up in the morning_

_And you are on my mind_

_Some people that I know would call it love_

William Parr woke slowly, bathed in early morning sunlight. His sea green eyes fluttered open and took their time focusing on the empty pillow beside him. He blinked. Empty pillow? He groaned. Last night had been a dream. Exquisitely vivid but a dream nonetheless. It was not the first one of those he'd had. No, this was just another disappointing morning among several. The dreams were always different and yet all the same. They were all about _her._ Alexandria Knightly, Lady Disdain, Edward Seymour's cousin and ward. A young woman he firmly disliked.

The dreams started out being purely sexual. He could understand that. The girl was a shrew but a pretty shrew, with lips full and pink and a décolletage that could drive a man to distraction. The dreams had started out wet and wild but did not remain so. Over time he began to dream of other things. Dancing with her, walking through the gardens, conversations that didn't end in shouting. Night after night she came to him in his mind's eye. Night after last she stood on the balcony in an exquisite white gown, flowers woven into her curls. He tried to talk to her but Edward Seymour blocked his every step – much to his absolute frustration.

Last night, this past night was full of images of her sleeping, curled to him peaceful and sweet. He held her the entire night, her hair falling around them both in a halo of chocolate curls. Beautiful and yet mundane, simple and warm – he was shocked it wasn't real. It seemed too real.

He was shocked and he was…. Sad.

_When I go to sleep in the nighttime_

_And my dreams get so I find_

_Some people that I know would call it love_

The court swirled and sang around them, the court festivities getting into full swing. The knot of people where the young people stood looked between the two as if a tennis match was about to begin, Dria with the serve, Parr with the return. A strong forehand from Lady Disdain. William smiled, he saw the glitter in Alexandria's eyes, he knew that sparkled, he loved it, it meant she was ready for a battle of wits. If he couldn't engage in a battle of passions he would settle for a skirmish of wit. He smiled.

"Oh, but I am loved of all ladies, only you excepted. It's too bad I'm so hard-hearted, because I really don't love anyone." Dria knew he spoke the truth when he said he was loved by all women, every other week a different Lady to the Queen though herself in love with the man, none saw him as the nuisance he was. Handsome to be sure he was also conceited, he knew he looked good and he used it to his advantage. The man was an outrageous flirt, one would think that he were French what with the way he carried on with every man and woman, unattached or married. She knew for a fact he had once tried to woo Anne right under her cousin Edward's nose, Cromwell had to step in before Edward rearranged the ruggedly handsome features of his face. Alexandria had neither the time nor respect for false romantics or those women stupid enough to fall for such flattery. And William Parr thrived on such foolish girls, never did he condescend his gaze to a woman of wit and worth. Though, she supposed, why would he? He knew he did not stand a chance with a woman such as herself, and he was not the type to stray from the path of least resistance.

"Praise be to God!" Dria exclaimed dramatically, raising her goblet to heaven in a toast. "A dear happiness to women, they would else have been troubled with a pernicious suitor. I thank God and my cold blood I am in agreement with you for once. I have no patience for romance. I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow than a man swear he loves me."

"Unless you do the barking, My Lady, you will hear neither." Parr replied, a twitter went through the spectators about them. They all knew he was lying; Alexandria Knightly was no Dog, especially not this night. The dark green velvet dress she wore hugged the curves of her lithe, petite body, her chocolate locks were half contained in a bun, the rest curling and falling over one shoulder in gleaming waves. She did not resemble her cousin Seymour - she was a by far more beautiful woman than he. Many men commented on this fact, and William could not deny it, Dria Knightly was beautiful, if aloof and sharp.

"The Good Lord was right to form you in such a way, it warns a gentleman so he knows your true nature and 'scapes a predestine scratched face." A hit, a most palpable hit, he thought to himself. Dria's dark eyes caught his. She raised one bold, dark brow and licked her full pink lips. Sensual actions, stall tactics, he told himself.

"If he has a face like yours, a good scratching couldn't make him look any worse." She said simply, lips curling slightly in a smirk as she sipped her wine. She had not been rendered completely speechless yet.

"You flex your claws, Mongrel, yet when you strike you do no more than parrot me back my words. Little Parakeet, I had expected more from you."

"A bird of my tongue is better than a beast of yours." Her return was satisfactory, if not as strong as others had been. That was the true beauty of Dria; she could spin tales and tie a man up with them.

"I would my horse had the speed of your tongue and so good a continuer." He was positioned, she was down, a few more lines and the match would be his. However before he could deliver the final blow, his friend Gregory was at his side, pulling him away with an urgency he could not brush off. Victory had nearly been his, and now he was forced to conceded the match. He cursed the fates as he was led way, the music in Dria's voice playing in his ear as she called after him,

"A Jade's trick! I know you of old."

_Some people would say that I'm crazy_

_For saying the things I say_

_Crazy for feeling the way that I feel about you_

William Parr angrily spurred his horse down the wooden path furious at everything – Alexandria bloody Knightly and her moralizing, Bryan and his lascivious talk about his sister, being here alone because Kate just had to go to fucking Germany. And that was when it crashed in on him. Kate was in Germany, and he was here alone. The pressure was on him now, and he was just a foolish boy who was good at pranks and getting himself into trouble.

"Bloody fucking hell, what am I going to do?" he asked the empty air. The air made no response, though the horse whinnied a little in sympathy. He patted the black charger and tried to get a hold on his control. He was a man now; he could hear _her _voice shouting that at him, he needed to act like it.

Except he didn't know how.

He lost himself in though, letting the horse pick the path, not paying attention until he realized the steed had stopped. He looked around, trying to figure out why. It took him a moment but then shallow breathing alerted him to the reason – a bundle of skirts on the side of the path was quivering, a curly dark head poking up from the fetal position. Good Lord, he realized with a jolt it was

"Alexandria?" He asked, dismounting the horse swiftly. What in the world? It was indeed Alexandria Knightly, the great Lady Disdain now reduced to this limp dress before his eyes. She wasn't even aware that he was beside her. What on earth was she doing in the woods? Was she hurt? He knelt beside her, large hand gently touching her shoulder, hoping he didn't make things worse with his contact.

"Alexandria." He said a little firmer, it was the first time he'd ever said her first name. This time she raised her head. Her eyes were the size of saucers and swimming in tears. They held none of the spirit or sparkle they usually did – even when she yelled at him they danced. They weren't dancing now. She was utterly broken. He pushed a curl behind her ear peering into her face, looking to see if she was physically wounded. Her lips quivered.

"He left me." She whimpered, her breath catching, "He left me. He left me. He left me…" She was hyperventilating he had to calm her down. So, throwing caution to the wind he took her heart shaped face between his hands and looked her in the eye.

"But that's not what I'm going to do." He said firmly. He wanted to know who left her – and why, but he knew better than to try and ask her anything now. So instead he took a deep breath. "I won't leave you, but you need to calm down – deep breaths." He took several – until she began to breath with him. He saw the sheer terror fade from her eyes – slightly.

"Are you injured?" He asked her softly. She looked alright but that didn't mean anything. She took another breath and shook her head – slowly. He gave her a soft smile.

"Can you stand?" another deep breath a small nod. He took her hands and slowly stood up, supporting her slight weight against his chest. She fit well in his arms.

Carefully he boosted her onto his horse and swung up behind her, pulling her against him and taking the reins again.

_What was going on?_ he wondered as he set a gentle pace back to the castle, not wanting to jostle her more. Looking into her eyes he felt his heart seize.

Big boisterous Lady Disdain was a woman – a human. A girl. He was… understanding her more. He ran from responsibility, she threw up walls around herself to keep the world from knowing the truth.

_Baby you are like a magnet_

_To this old cold heart of steel_

_Some people that I know would call it love_

When Alexandria had been eight her family had still been alive, they had still been friends with Edward's parents, and spent holidays and summers at one another's estates. That eighth summer Dria had demanded to get to go with Thomas as he went adventuring in the woods, Edward was reading, Jane was slaying dragons in her own fantasy world and Elizabeth and Dorothy had been boring. Thomas had said they were going to go fishing in a stream, he knew where it was.

They had gotten absolutely lost for most of the day. And as the sun began to set Thomas did not take well to his hysterical little cousin and threatened to leave her in a log if she didn't buck up and help him find the way out. Eventually her father had heard her screaming and crashed through the trees until he found her. He had been so furious with her... It still chilled her to think about how angry her father had been - until of course he saw her ripped dress, skinned knees, and tear stained face.

To this day Dria did NOT like to be lost. She had to know exactly where she was at all times.

She knew where she was now; she was on a horse her back flush against William Parr's warm chest. She was safe. Safely out of the woods, safe in his arms. For some reason she'd felt at peace the moment he'd touched her. She looked back at him.

He sat tall in the saddle outlined against the sky, sun cresting over his head giving him a halo. He wasn't a saint, she still didn't like him, but he had just saved her life.

He wordlessly helped her down from the horse when they arrived at the stables and led her by the hand back to her chambers. He wasn't angry… he was concerned. And when he stopped at her door and looked down at her she knew. He could read her like a book, her greatest fear written in her eyes. He had read it. He understood it.

_I'm an open book just take one look_

_You'll see how I feel_

_Some people that I know would call it love_

"Dria Knightly." John More said slowly, as if he doubted his ability to hear correctly. "Edward Seymour's ward. Edward Seymour – the man who hates your guts with a burning passion unmatched by anything else on this earth… you want to marry that Dria Knightly?" Will pinched the bridge of his nose, when you put it like that… It sounded like he had a death wish. But it was true.

"John, I love her. I can't explain it but I do. She… she makes me want to be a better man, no when I am with her I _am _a better man. I-"

"I get it!" John said with a laugh. "You love her, she loves you. I'm very happy for the both of you. Now – how you going to ask her? No, scratch that, how are you going to ask Edward for permission?"

"I have no idea what you see in him." Anne said with a sigh. The cousins were sitting up in Alexandria's bed, earlier that day Dria had just accepted William Parr's outrageously fitting proposal of marriage. Even though Anne was fairly certain Dria and Will had already done some 'talk' involving the nature of male and female relations Anne still felt obligated to speak to her cousin about married life. Alexandria leaned back against her pillows.

"Most people don't, there are some days I don't know what I see… but I do know what I feel. Anne, I love him. I love him very much, not in spite of his flaws but because of them for I know that he loves me and my flaws as well. He… I… we…" She closed her eyes. "I just feel complete with him."

_Some people would say that I'm crazy_

_For saying the things I say_

_Crazy for feeling the way that I feel about you_

William Parr woke slowly, bathed in early morning sunlight. His sea green eyes fluttered open and took their time focusing on the empty pillow beside him. He blinked. Empty pillow? He groaned. Last night had been a dream. He put his arm over his eyes and sighed.

The sound of gurgling made him look over to the other side of his bed, entering the bedchamber was Alexandria, little Amelia tucked in her arms. She slipped back into bed and put their daughter between them. She leaned over and gave him a soft peck on the lips, her hair falling around them, Amelia's chubby hand batting at it.

"She was calling for you." Dria said softly, William raised himself on one arm and looked down at his daughter, a perfect tintype of her mother, save for the Parr eyes, successfully passed to another generation.

"Good morning poppet." He said softly brushing a finger over the dark downy curls on her head. He looked up at Alexandria and smiled.

_Still I wake up in the morning_

_And you are on my mind_

_Some people that I know would call it love_

_Oh, I call it love_


	5. Suspicious Minds

Oddments: The Musical

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Disclaimer: I am not a Theologian, a Historian, or a TV Producer; I therefore do not own any thing.  
Pairing: Edward Seymour/ Anne Stanhope  
_Note: Kate helped me write some of the Edward/Anne confrontation._

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Suspicious Minds, Elvis

_We're caught in a trap_

"You're suspicious of me?" Edward fairly screamed, slamming about the chambers they cohabitated. "You've never had you're heartbroken – I'm the one who's been betrayed, what right do you have to be suspicious? My first wife fucked my own father!"

"Trust isn't a one way street Edward! How can I trust you when you don't trust ME? I'm not your Goddamn first wife! My name is Anne – not Catherine! Not every woman is Catherine, show me a little respect! Throw me a bone! Give me a chance!" She was slamming about in equal measure, her chest straining against the bodice of her dress as she glared at her husband. It was as if he didn't even believe her when she stood at the altar and pledged her fidelity. She wasn't sure if he'd ever believe her. And it hurt.

She had done nothing to earn his distrust – except be born a woman. And that wasn't fair, if she was to be blamed for something she would like to have done something wrong. But no, Catherine was the one to hurt him and she was just the one to bear the brunt of anger and distrust.

_I can't walk out  
because I love you too much baby;  
But why can't you see  
what you're doin' to me_

If he wasn't going to trust her – give her the kind of respect she deserved as his wife she should just leave. Or prove him right. There was nothing keeping her happy with him, nothing that should keep her faithful. His coldness hurt her. She wanted to hurt him. But in the end, she knew she couldn't, it would only hurt her as well. Such was the nature of love.

_when you don't believe a word I say;_

"I love you, Edward." She looked him in the eye and told him the truth. No buts, no conditionals. Just the truth, for she did love him. He just looked back and with four words ripped her heart out and stomped on it.

"I don't believe you."

Edward watched pain explode in her eyes and he knew that disembowelment with a red-hot poker would have hurt her less. He loved her. And he knew that she was telling the truth. But he wouldn't believe her – couldn't believe her. He'd been hurt too badly before, cut too deep. Catherine had also said she'd loved him. He could hear her voice in his head as clear as he could hear Anne. He wouldn't – couldn't let himself get hurt again.

_We can't go on together  
with suspicious minds;  
and we can't build our dreams  
on suspicious minds;_

So instead he hurt her. It hurt him as well to see her in pain, but it was the only way. If he let himself fall again, to subscribe to the life he so badly wanted to live – if the dream came true – and then he woke up, if it failed. It would be the death of him.

_So  
if an old friend I know  
drops by to say hello  
would I still see  
suspicion in your eyes?_

He told her once that it was the one thing she'd never have to worry about. He told her once that he would kill any man who looked at her – even his own brother. He told her once that Catherine had hurt him so deeply that he could hardly trust again. He told her once he told her a thousand times! And yet there he is taking some young beauty back to her room, there he is giving her a hug and a kiss; there he was sticking a pair of horns on her head like some _cuckquean_.

"Who is she?" Anne burst through the door of her husband's office, tears threatened the back of her eyes, pricking at the back of her throat and quivering her lip, she was going to cry goddamnit! She'd not cried since she was very very small, not actual tears. Leave it to Edward Fucking Seymour to destroy her so thoroughly.

But the rumors…

For his part Edward seemed completely gob-smacked. He opened and closed his mouth several times without sound, his navy eyes growing very wide.

"I… She… WHAT?" He finally managed.

"I'm talking about the little chit you're having an affair with!" She exclaimed, slamming her hand against his desk, ignoring the tingle of pain that shot up her arm at the jarring contact. "Everyone's talking about it! How young she is - and beautiful, and how they pity me! How could you Edward, how could you?"

She watched his face, her chest heaving, as he processed through being found out. The shock. Confusion. Realization.

"The only woman besides you and Jane who has been anywhere near my rooms was Dria, Anne," he said firmly. "She and I don't look alike, so whoever saw us could have misunderstood." His tone softened, as if he wanted to reach out to her. She shied away."I have _never_ been unfaithful and it's not going to happen." He told her quietly.

"I don't believe you." She repeated his words back to him. "Or perhaps I simply do not understand. How do you promise me your fidelity when you won't accept that I care for you, when you tell me that you believe my love for you is a lie? How can I trust you when you won't trust me?!"

"Anne! Anne – please, Alexandria-" She was already out the door, slamming it with force enough that she heard the windows of the office rattle.

Truthfully, she did believe him, that the mystery woman was simply Dria Knightly, Edward's cousin and ward. She should have known by the description alone who it was. Short, dark haired beauty that gave massive hugs – it was absolutely Dria.

But it still remained, how dare he ask for her trust when he would give her none of his?

_Here we go again  
asking where I've been;  
And you can't see these tears are real  
I'm crying;_

She wasn't drunk – yet. Had her sitting room had another bottle of wine she would have been, however it did not, and so she returned to her rooms tipsy. Edward was probably in his office, per usual. So he wasn't having an affair with his cousin, he was however cheating on her with paperwork. The fact he preferred laws to his Lady's company was one of the many reasons why she drank. She hiccupped sadly and entered 'their' chambers.

"_Where have you been?"_ The growl was deadly – low and menacing. Anne looked about, all the candles in the room were unlit save one candelabra that sat beside the fire and large wingback chair. Anger crackled in his dark eyes like the fire in the grate.

"Edward – hic- what are you doing here." His knuckles were white from gripping the arms of the chair.

"Waiting for you." His voice rumbled. "Where. Have. You. Been?" Something inside of her snapped, helped by the alcohol, she was sure.

"Suddenly you treat me like your wife? Why do you care?" he launched himself from his chair, crushing her to him.

"Because you are _mine!_" His lips came down hard on hers, his hands tunneling into her hair and claiming her. For a moment she gave into the kiss, surrendered to his passions. But then she regained her senses. He said she was his – in the same way a man might throw a fit over someone touching their property. She wasn't his wife, this wasn't a romantic jealousy, this was possession.

She slapped him – hard. Her hand cracking across his face and ringing through the air. Her chest heaving, his cheek turning scarlet, visible despite the low light.

_Won't let our love survive  
or dry the tears from your eyes_

"What the Hell?!" he asked.

"YOU! You tell me that you don't love me and then you demand to know where I am or what I am doing. You act like you don't care and you act like you do! Edward, I am your wife, not your THING. I'm your WIFE!" She paused. "I – I don't know if I can keep doing this." It hit her like a ton of bricks, and by the look in his eyes it appeared as if it hit him just as hard.

"What?" He asked.

"I can't keep being your wife. Not when you don't treat me as such. When you ignore me, push me away and then treat me like some object – either that you own or is here for your own sexual pleasure. I'm – I'm tired. So tired of being jerked around. I care about you. I love you. But I've got to love myself more, I can't – I can't stay here any longer."

She'd not said any of this before, not even to herself, even at her darkest mood, but she realized as soon as the words were out that they were true. She had to leave – for her heart, for her sanity.

Edward felt as if he'd been punched, the pain in his cheek and jaw nothing to this. He had known this would happen, that she would leave him. His knees buckled, but he caught himself on the chair, leaning heavily on the arm, he knew he'd drive her away, but he'd not known just how much it would hurt him. It killed him.

He loved her. He loved her more than he ever loved Catherine, and at the time he had been sure that she was the world. Anne – Anne was more than his world, she was his universe.

And she loved him.

And she was leaving.

_SAY SOMETHING!_ His heart screamed. _Say anything! Just make her stay._

_I can't lose her_. He thought, it drove his actions. He sprang to his feet and grabbed her wrist before she could touch the door handle.

"Don't leave me." He whispered. "Please, don't leave me. I love you." He was crying tears of his own. She just looked at him.

"It's too late Edward."

"NO!" He cried, hand tightening on hers, not enough to cause pain but to hold her in place. If his words couldn't hold her ... He had to find a way to make her stay. "Anne – I love you. I love you more than anything, more than I loved Catherine, and she broke my-"

"She broke your heart, I know Edward, you've told me time and again. You act as if you're the only one to have had a broken heart. But I've loved you; I think I've known my fair share of pain." She was prying his hands from her. He clung tighter.

"It's not that," he told her. "She hurt me, yes, but more than that she…I… I don't know how to love any more. I don't know what to do. I don't know how. I love you Anne, I just don't know what to do. Please – stay. Tell me, teach me, please, don't leave me. Give me a second chance, I will change, Anne, I will do anything." With one fair hand she cupped his large square jaw and brought his face up to meet his eyes, her gaze swam in tears, as did his. She studied him for a long moment.

"Okay." She whispered. "I'll stay." He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her close, his face burying in her crown.

_but let's don't let a good thing die  
_

"I'm terrified. I don't know…" He admitted after some time. She ran her fingers through his hair, soothingly.

"It's okay, neither do I." she replied.

_when honey  
you know I have never lied to you;  
Mmm  
Yeah  
yeah_


	6. Kiss the Bride

Oddments: The Musical

* * *

Disclaimer: I am not a Theologian, a Historian, or a TV Producer; I therefore do not own any thing.  
Pairing: Philip of Bavaria/ Mary I

* * *

I Wanna Kiss the Bride, Elton John

_The Cathedral was over flowing with flowers and people and excitement. The wedding of the Lady Mary Tudor, only daughter of His Royal Highness King Henry VIII and Katherine of Aragon, to his Royal Highness Prince Philip of Spain, the only son of Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor, was to be that day and speculation was high. Would her father walk her down the aisle the way the traditional father did or would his lofty status and fickle love for his eldest daughter keep him from giving the bride away. What would she be wearing; the talk of fashion alone had filled weeks of conversation. And what of this groom, this Spanish Prince? Was he handsome, was he kind, would he be more faithful to her than her father was to her mother. Questions, questions, questions – all about to be answered._

_Duke Philip of Bavaria stood in the back of the church, not having been invited but having been able to find a sympathetic Yeoman to allow him into the ceremony. He'd only arrived in England an hour before, the trip from Germany taking an eternity in his eyes as he rushed from his homeland at the news of Mary's engagement. _

_Mary. Mary had been the pearl of his world since they had first met – her father had married Philip's Cousin Anne of Cleves, and he had been permitted to visit and court her. He'd fallen in love with her that winter, but could do nothing as Henry divorced Anne soon after they met and Philip was sent back to Germany. He knew that she loved him as well, but the years and the miles and the life of a Princess brought them to this point. A wedding, but not their own._

_The choir began, the witnesses stood, and the ceremony began. Mary, his Mary, was a vision in white, small crown atop a long ivory Spanish style veil that was carried by small children. Her father, His Royal Highness King Henry had condescended to walk his eldest child down the aisle; he cut a massive, stately feature in a sober suit of Silver, Bronze and Gold. The crowd gasped at her beauty, curls spilling around her face, cheeks rosy with a maiden blush. Philip looked towards the Groom, also dressed in white. _

_He did not gasp. He did not blush. He did not look interested at all in what was going on, the entire ceremony was regarded with the eye of a man who was doing his duty and duty alone. Philip felt himself burn with rage, did this stupid bastard not realize what a jewel he was getting? What a bride? What a woman he would have the honor of calling wife? Did he not know that the lips that he alone would be allowed to kiss were the sweetest heaven in the world, the body that would be his to love and protect was the most desirable figure in all womanhood? How his new bride was in procession of the quickest wit and a rare humor? Did he know anything? _

_As the ceremony began Philip felt himself physically shaking with anger towards the prince and the proceedings. There was no way that Mary could be happy in this match. Not when she loved him – and he loved her! A tear slipped down her cheek as she listened to the Priest explaining the role of a wife. Hammering home how this wedding was for King and Country instead of love and affection. _

"_Does anyone here have a reason why these two should not wed? Speak now, or forever hold your peace." Philip so dearly wanted to make a scene – To shout, to run down to the alter and sweep Mary up in his arms and run as fast as he could. Run all the way back to German if he must. _

_But he kept silent. He loved her too much to ruin her day. To ruin the reconciliation she had with her father which had been hard won after far too many years of his neglect. She would be a Princess again, her rightful title, her rightful place. Philip of Spain could provide her legitimacy and rank. He was a Catholic. Philip of Bavaria brought none of this to the table; he had but one thing to offer the Princess – his undying love. But sometimes that was not enough._

_She slipped on the ring and Philip knew everything would never be the same again. And as the Groom kissed his bride Philip looked away, knowing that despite her marriage no one would love Mary better than he did. It gave him some comfort as the 'happy' couple went out to greet the English People._

Philip of Bavaria awoke with a start, a shout of 'No' waking his valet in the next room. He was not at the wedding – he was not watching Mary ride out of his life with some man not remotely good enough for her. It was her wedding day – yes, but he still had time. Time to make things right.

"Does anyone here have a reason why these two should not wed? Speak now, or forever hold your peace." The Priest asked. Philip took a deep breath.

"I Do!" He said loudly, moving into the aisle. The entire church gasped, guards drew their swords and Mary's jaw dropped to the floor.

"Philip?" She whispered in shock. He moved down the aisle swiftly, he only had moments before he was dragged off to the Tower to be killed. The only person who did not step forward in a range was the Groom. Philip wished he could cite that as reason alone for this wedding not to go on, but he did not.

"What is your reason, My Son?" The Priest asked, compelled by his office to do such a thing Philip was fairly certain.

"I want to kiss the Bride." He said. Turning to Mary he saw tears in her sky blue eyes, for a wretched moment he worried that he had hurt her, that he had been misguided and miscalculated. That he ruined he life. But then he saw the love, it was a strong love, it glowed brighter than the star in the East and it guided him to her. He cupped her face in his hands, thumbs brushing away her tears before he slowly lowered his lips to hers.

The Kiss was perfect. Sweeter than he remembered. She gasped a little at the pressure of his lips and he deepened the connection. His tongue seeking hers, parting her lips and making its way past her teeth. After a moment's hesitation she gave in to his pleas, her tongue seeking his, her arms winding around his neck. The bouquet that had been in her hands dropped to the floor. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close, putting the entire breadth and depth of his soul – of his love for her (for they were one in the same, his soul and his love) into this one kiss.

He pulled away, pressing a final light kiss to her lips and looking deep into her eyes.

"I love you." He whispered.

_Well she looked a peach in the dress she made_  
_When she was still her mama's little girl_  
_And when she walked down the aisle everybody smiled_  
_At her innocence and curls_  
_And when the preacher said is there anyone here_  
_Got a reason why they shouldn't wed_  
_I should have stuck up my hand_  
_I should have got up to stand_  
_And this is what I should have said_

_I wanna kiss the bride yeah!_  
_I wanna kiss the bride yeah!_  
_Long before she met him_  
_She was mine, mine, mine_  
_Don't say I do_  
_Say bye, bye, bye_  
_And let me kiss the bride yeah!_

_Underneath her veil I could see a tear_  
_Trickling down her pretty face_  
_And when she slipped on the ring I knew everything_  
_Would never be the same again_  
_But if the groom would have known he'd have had a fit_  
_About his wife and the things we did_  
_And what I planned to say_  
_Yeah on her wedding day_  
_Well I thought it but I kept it hid_


End file.
